


Exhaustion

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Community: sherlockkink, Cuddling, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-01
Updated: 2010-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 08:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not sure if the painfully bright flickers round the edges of his vision are from the recently completed ritual or the lack of sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this kink meme prompt: _ How about some post sex Blackwood/Coward with Blackwood sleeping on top of Coward or Blackwood waking up on top of Coward._

Coward is exhausted. It's been almost thirty two hours since he last closed his eyes, and he's not sure if the painfully bright flickers round the edges of his vision are from the recently completed ritual or the lack of sleep. He can't even focus any longer; anything he looks at turns fuzzy and doubles, and he knows he isn't walking straight, because he keeps running into things; Henry has one arm wrapped around his waist, leading him away from walls before he can fall against them, and Henry has been up longer than he has, so how can he possibly be more focused?

He recognizes the next room he's guided to, and oh, thank all saints, there's a bed. He wants nothing more than to just crawl in it and die, but there's still clean up left from the rites, and he mumbles into Henry's neck, something about taking care of the bodies, and he's slurring his words, and he'd be embarrassed if he had half a mind left. Henry laughs, the sound reverberating through his chest, more felt than heard, and it's hardly fair to laugh at him when he's like this. He says something to that effect, or thinks he does, and suddenly Henry's arm is gone.

He sways at the loss of support, and then hands are back on him, attacking the buttons on his shirt. He tries to help, but at some point they've become ridiculously small. Henry bats his hands away, and proceeds to strip him, shirt shoes pants socks, and turns him toward the bed with a shove, just enough to send him stumbling into soft, clean sheets. He groans and goes limp, already more than half asleep, and barely registers the shift of mattress as Henry sits next to him. Henry's laughing at him again, and he'd protest if he had any energy to spare, but Henry is already using up what little he has with lazy kisses.

Henry's hands are sliding down across his chest, brushing nipples and tracing circles on his abdomen, threading through the hair at the base of his cock, and he feels himself respond with a faint stirring of surprise. There's none of the usual urgency, the need, the slightly desperate burning want; just slow, wet slides, fragmented by blinks that seem to last for days, his hands coming to touch skin with all the speed of eternity. The build of heat in his body lasts forever, and orgasm seems to last as long, as he comes with the barest shifting of hips, the quietest of gasped breaths. He stills, and sensation disappears into darkness.

*

It is daylight when he wakes, sunlight streaming through the windows to dapple the figures on the bed. There is a heavy weight on his chest, covering his arm and legs. He glances down, and has to smile at the sight; Henry, passed out half on top of him, even breaths ghosting across his collarbones. It looks like he never made it back up after coming, and it is his turn to laugh; he knew Henry couldn't have been in much better shape than he was. He shifts slightly, easing his numb arm, and closes his eyes, sliding back into the sleep of the dead.


End file.
